FUll of rebellion, I would die, Or fight, or travell, or denie That thou hast ought to do with me. O tame my heart; It is thy highest art To captivate strong holds to thee. If thou shalt let this venome lurk, And in suggestions fume and work, My soul will turn to bubbles straight, And thence by kinde Vanish into a winde, Making thy workmanship deceit. O smooth my rugged heart, and there Engrave thy revrend Law and fear; Or make a new one, since the old Is saplesse grown, And a much fitter stone To hide my dust, then thee to hold.
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